Let's Go To The Mall
by Paperclip-Assassin
Summary: Dean is forced to spend an afternoon in a shopping mall with Cas and hates every second of it. Except that he doesn't. Not really. - One-shot.


**Let's Go To The Mall**

Oh, the glories of the Mall on a Saturday. There's deafening screams, children are crying for their parents, the air is so dry it closes up his throat and in the background there's the awfully familiar tune of a One Direction song blasting obnoxiously. If Dean shuts his eyes he doesn't have to pretend too hard to actually belief he's back in hell, because they've barely been there fifteen minutes and he already feels like it's been thirty years. Give or take.

He wants to throttle his brother for talking him into having the Impala for the afternoon to "catch up on a lead". Yeah, sure. Sammy's getting laid, that's what's up, and Dean is more than just mildly frustrated that he is, instead of pursuing similar past time activities, on Cas-sitting duty.

Anyone who argues that a billion-year-old former warrior of God didn't necessarily need to be watched 24/7 had clearly never witnessed Castiel in a shopping center. Newly human and twice as awkward as before the former angel wanders around following random people like a lost puppy, easily getting distracted by this and that and if not for Dean the guy would have probably been arrested by now. This way the hunter keeps close by, watching his friend's every move and trying to explain to him how to act like a normal human, which is really not an easy task.

The guy just keeps humming along with the dreadful tunes that you hear on every crappy pop station on the radio- which Dean has banned from the Impala so he totally blames Sam for corrupting their friend- a bounce in his step while Taylor Swift unoriginally complains about some break-up. Dean gets grumpier by the minute, the noise all around him making his head throb, when Cas suddenly stops in front of a shoe store. In the window there's already a vast assortment of winter boots and fluffy house-shoes even though fall has barely arrived.

Dean has to admit that Cas, ever since becoming human, has developed a strange taste for clothes. He likes flamboyant jumpers, wildly printed shirts and snugly fitting pants (that do really nice things to the guy's ass- not that Dean's been checking that out. At all.) and it's such a stark contrast to the tax accountant suit and trench that Dean had taken a spit-take the first time he saw Cas walk out of his room in the bunker with a t-shirt proclaiming "Gangnam Style" in hot pink letters. As an immediate consequence the hunter had forced his friend out of the offending piece of clothing and given him a lesson in band-merchandize. At least now the former angel frequently sports t-shirts advertising brands Dean actually approved of, like Pink Floyd, Motörhead or AC/DC. Right now, however, Castiel wears the most clichéd Guns'n'Roses tee Dean's ever seen and stares longingly at a pair of plush boots.

"Dean," he says, catching the hunter's stare in the shop window. "These look very comfortable."

Dean groans first inwardly and then out loud when his friend enters the shop, apparently intent on finding out just how comfortable the shoes are. Before Cas can find a shop assistant Dean is already steering him into the opposite direction again, growling, because the former angel is in the body of a thirty-something year-old man and therefore definitely not going to buy freaking Ugg boots, goddamnit.

"Just imagine running from a vamp in those," the hunter tries to reason with his pouty companion- trying and failing to not be affected by those huge blue eyes.

For a moment Cas seems to consider his words before heaving a sigh. "I suppose they would prove unpractical," he says in defeat and moves to keep on walking albeit not without casting one last look of longing at the bulky boots.

Dean barely has the time to let out a relieved breath before Cas sets his mind on a new thing he has to have: coffee. Well, at least that's manageable and admittedly, Dean could use a bit of caffeine himself, so they walk to the nearest escalator which will take them straight into the heart of the Mall's food court. Downstairs his friend immediately spots a familiar green and white logo that makes Dean cringe because most of what they sell doesn't resemble coffee at all and is instead a generous quantity of milk with diabetes-inducing amounts of sugar and about a thimble's worth of actual coffee. But Cas seems to not give a rat's ass so Dean decides to humour him. However, when his black-haired friend orders a pumpkin-spice latte he almost changes his mind again.

Jesus Christ with a Top Hat, who even drinks that shit? Fourteen-year-old girls, that's who. Coincidentally it is also this age group that prefers the previously analysed boots and the shirt hugging Cas' torso.

He stops a couple of feet from the counter, gawking as Cas pays for the beverage and cradles the cup to his body, sniffing at the steam with a goofy smile, blissfully unaware of the fact that he perfectly fits the cliché of 'common white girls'.

Upon noticing the Winchester's glare on him, Cas tenses visibly and cocks a questioning eye-brow. The hunter huffs, deciding on letting his friend off the hook for now. "That's a very girly drink," he merely informs and leads the way to KFC where he wants to grab a quick snack after that shock, seeing as it's not every day that your male best friend- that you may or may not have a crush on- willingly embraces pubescence and all the awkwardness that comes with it.

"It's delicious, Dean. You should try it." Cas holds out the cup to Dean who pulls a face.

"Thanks, I'll pass." He spontaneously decides against having chicken and instead of aiming for KFC walks straight back toward the escalator that brought them downstairs, wanting to go up its counterpart.

"Do you think we can go and see the puppies at the pet store before Sam picks us up again?" Cas asks eagerly as he spots an advertisement for the shop. Dean sighs and rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

"To make up for this afternoon we gotta do something manly tonight. You up for a couple of beers and a Die Hard marathon?"

Cas shrugs but his eyes hold an eager glint, which to Dean is affirmation enough. At least this shows that there's at least some testosterone left in his friend and as long as that's the case a little pumpkin latte here and a boy band song there can't hurt. But should, one of these days, the phrase '_I literally can't even_' slip from the former angel's lips, Dean, so help him God, will put an end to this.

Until then there's still some time to pass and maybe, if he includes Die Hard _and_ Rambo in the movie night to compensate, he can cuddle one of the cute retriever puppies, too.

If only to make his fallen angel smile.

* * *

**disclaimer: disclaimed.**


End file.
